What You Mean To Me
by Edward Carson
Summary: Lady Mary is a woman of action more than words. An upcoming event allows her to show Mr. Carson the place he holds in her heart. POST-SEASON 6.


**What You Mean to Me**

At precisely 2:30 p.m., the library door opened and Andrew stepped in ahead of a visitor. "Mr. Carson, my lady."

Lady Mary smiled and rose from the sofa, turning to see Carson moving into the room in a deliberate manner. It was not the first time he had been in the library since his retirement, but his almost too formal bearing reflected a slight discomfort, as if he no longer belonged here. It pained Lady Mary to see this in a man who had strode these floors with such confidence all of her life.

For her part, it was still a little startling to see him in something other than his butler's livery. He cut a dashing figure in his soft grey suit, as impeccably attired as ever he had been in his formal service attire, but he didn't look the same. It was not too difficult, however, for Lady Mary to sweep these troubling flashes from her mind and to greet him warmly. She was as happy to see him as always.

"Carson! How good to see you." Her gaze dropped from his face to his feet and then she looked up at him again in puzzlement. "But where's your dog? His Lordship has told us all about ... Shep. I was hoping to meet him."

"My lady," Carson said affably, returning her smile and finally getting a word in. "I left him in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. I didn't think it appropriate to bring him upstairs."

He had come in by the servants' entrance. Lady Mary made a mental note. "This is a house that welcomes dogs, Carson. Perhaps I'll see him on the way out. Andrew, may we have some tea, please."

The footman nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

"Come in, please, Carson." Lady Mary swept her arm toward the sofas.

Carson advanced cautiously and with an air of uncertainty, coming to a halt at the end of the sofa on which Lady Mary had re-seated herself.

"You wished to see me, my lady."

"I did."

"How may I help you?" It was the question he had asked her professionally a thousand times and it rolled off his tongue automatically.

"Please sit down," she said, indicating the sofa opposite her.

Carson did not move. Not since she was a young girl had he sat in her presence. He ought also to have been able to say that he had never sat on the library sofa, but this was not the case. Only last year, while the family were away at Brancaster Castle, he had been enticed by Mrs. Hughes to violate the house code of conduct in doing so. That she had managed to lure him into such an indiscretion after half a century of faithful adherence to the rules had given him fresh insight into the transgression in the Garden of Eden. Without her influence, he could not readily act in such an unaccustomed manner.

Lady Mary glanced up, saw him frozen in place, and stifled a slightly amused sound. She knew exactly what was going on in his head, and respected him for it, but she also wanted to move beyond it. "Carson, I've asked you here as my guest, not as a servant. Please. Sit."

He wavered for another few seconds and then yielded. But he was not at all comfortable, with either the action or her designation of him as a 'guest,' and he sat tentatively on the edge of the sofa. Lady Mary saw this as as much of a victory as she could expect and did not press him.

"How are you?"

It was the standard opening social question, yet Lady Mary had almost forborne to ask it. Her father had already indicated that Carson was still struggling with the loss of his position and acceptance of the infirmity that had caused it. This made inquiries about his health a rather delicate matter.

But Carson had lived a lifetime of concealment with regard to his personal adversities where the family were concerned. "Quite well, my lady," he said genially. "I don't have to ask after your health. My eyes tell me that all is well with you." Lady Mary glowed under his benignly admiring gaze. "May I ask after the health of your new son?"

For a moment the proud mother recounted the accomplishments of her weeks' old son. Carson responded appropriately, his interest in Lady Mary's child a reflection of his life-long devotion to the mother. "He changes almost minute by minute, Carson," she concluded. "You won't know him when you see him again."

A pause ensued. Carson was puzzled by his presence here. Although Lady Mary had often sought him out for counsel or comfort at the trying moments of her life, he was unaware of circumstances that made either option plausible here. Before she could enlighten him, the library door opened again and Andrew came in bearing the tea. He arranged the tray on the table between the sofas and then looked to Lady Mary for further instruction.

"Thank you, Andrew. That will be all."

The young footman nodded and departed.

Carson was momentarily distracted. "That came with extraordinary promptness," he said, impressed despite himself.

"I knew you would be punctual," Lady Mary said with a superior air. "I asked that Mrs. Patmore have tea ready five minutes later."

"Ah."

The arrival of the tea and the departure of the footman left Mr. Carson in a quandary. It was his impulse to pour. He felt an almost irresistible professional imperative to do so. But he was also keenly aware of the infirmity that had ended his career by making it impossible for him to execute such a simple task without courting disaster.

Lady Mary once again discerned his thoughts. "You're the guest. I'll pour."

She did so with a grace and facility that surprised him and yet did not surprise him at all. Although he had rarely, if ever, seen her manage this basic domestic task - apart from childhood tea parties in the butler's pantry - Mr. Carson readily accepted that Lady Mary could do anything and do it well.

"I know I've alarmed you by receiving you in this manner, Carson..."

"You have, my lady." He accepted the tea cup she held out to him and gazed at her with some perplexity.

"There's nothing amiss, Carson," she said reassuringly, taking a sip of her tea. "I only wanted to ask you something and as I haven't seen you on your own for a few weeks, I thought I'd make a bit of an event about it."

This soothed him a little, but he raised an eyebrow in a questioning way.

There was no point in keeping him in suspense. "You'll know that we've set the date for the christening," she said. The fact was common knowledge in the house and Lady Mary was certain that Mrs. Hughes would have imparted this crucial detail, and all the less crucial details of it besides, to her husband and that he would have absorbed them avidly, as he did all things concerning his beloved Lady Mary.

"I had heard," he said circumspectly.

"You will also know, or, at least assume, that Master Stephen will have six godparents. As Master George did." *****

Carson merely nodded. He wondered if Lady Mary had chosen some distinguished member of the aristocracy to serve and wanted his advice on protocol. Her sister, whom she had passed over last time, was a remote possibility as a candidate - Carson had no illusions about the affections between the sisters - but adding a Marchioness to the mixture might require some deft handling. Well, he could still manage that. He relaxed a little and edged his way into a more comfortable position on the sofa, carefully balancing his cup and saucer as he did so.

"Of course," he responded, encouraging her to continue.

Lady Mary took a deep breath, a sense of pleasurable anticipation coming over her as she contemplated Carson's reaction to her next words. "Carson, Mr. Talbot and I would be honoured if you would consent to be one of Master Stephen's godfathers."

She thought she knew how he would react - all blustering self-denial and expressions of social inadequacy - and had prepared her defenses. He might well have done so, but in the moment the immediate response was the sudden convulsion of his right hand, which rattled the china he held and spilled tea into the saucer, and threatened to do more damage still. This diverted his shock at her words into a more familiar wave of frustration such as engulfed him every time he lost control in this manner.

Although she had not anticipated this, Lady Mary moved swiftly to address it. She quickly put down her own cup and shifted to the other sofa, sitting beside him and reaching out to him. With one hand she took the imperiled tea cup from him and set it down on the table. Her other hand she slipped into his, holding onto him firmly as he continued to shake.

She'd seen the tremors before but she'd never felt them. Holding his hand made it clear to her as nothing else could have how completely out of his control this was. And she felt intimately the frustration and...perhaps anger, possibly fear, that gripped him. She looked up and found him staring at her fiercely, the emotional pain of his helplessness vivid in his eyes. And something else, too. Shame. He hated her seeing him brought so low.

"It's all right, Carson," she said, and she was surprised and relieved to hear how normal she sounded. There was neither anxiety on her own part nor discomfort with his vulnerability, but only a determination to restore him. "It's all right," she said again, reassuringly. And she meant it.

He did not try to disengage from her. Apart from Mrs. Hughes, Lady Mary was the only person whose comforting touch he could tolerate with equanimity.

They neither of them said a thing as the spasms worked themselves out. Neither did they look away. His always expressive eyes told her how much it took out of him to have lost the reliability of his limbs. Her own steady gaze assured him that this development did nothing to diminish him where she was concerned.

Eventually it passed and she squeezed his hand and then let go, though she remained by his side. It surprised her a little that he did not hasten to apologize. Apologizing for a transgression - real or perceived - would have been characteristic of him. But his eyes dropped from hers, and he looked away.

This sign of defeat reminded Lady Mary of where they had been. She took another deep breath. "Will you honour us and our son, Carson?"

His gaze came back to her so swiftly that he took her by surprise. Long practice in self-control allowed him to affect a facade of dispassion. "I am not a gentleman, my lady."

She could not help but smile at him. _This_ was much more the Carson she knew and his statement made it possible for her to become _his_ Lady Mary. "The role of godparents is a ceremonial one, Carson, as you well know. It is way to create and maintain those ties that bind individuals, families, and communities. And there is no one I want to bind more closely at this minute to the fabric of my family and to my son than you."

He said nothing, could say nothing, but his jaw tightened almost agonizingly in an effort contain the floodtide of emotion that coursed through him. He could only stare at her. She waited him out.

"Of course," she said, thinking to help bring him down, "godparents _do_ also undertake to support the spiritual development of their godchild. I suspect you may be the only one of the lot who's up to that task!" And she smiled warmly at him, encouraging him to calmness with this attempt at humour.

He was too focused on other matters. "And what," he said finally, managing to speak in a steady voice, "does Mr. Talbot think of this?" He did not really know Mr. Talbot, not as he had known Mr. Matthew Crawley, and could not readily gauge his reactions.

"Oh, he's all for it," Lady Mary said lightly, with a saucy grin. And then added more seriously, "Mr. Talbot knows where we stand, you and I."

He hesitated still.

Lady Mary drew herself up in mock formality. "I know you don't approve of mixing ranks, Carson, but I'm hoping you will make an exception this once, for me." She put a casual emphasis on the last two words and smiled disingenuously.

For the first time since he had entered the room, the old trenchancy of his disposition asserted itself and he gave her a knowing look that told her he had seen right through her. No one adhered to the laws of social propriety more assiduously than he - not even the Dowager. He would go to his grave determined to 'do things properly.' But his Achilles' heel in this moment and any other was his love for her and for her he would break any rule. She had played him and they both knew it.

"As you wish, my lady," he said formally. And then they both smiled, vanquishing the shadow of the earlier painful moment.

"Good," Lady Mary said with some satisfaction. She hadn't really doubted the outcome, but she was pleased it hadn't been an arduous struggle.

He was gazing at her with that look of open adoration she had known from him all her life.

"Drink your tea," she said smoothly.

A look of trepidation flashed briefly across his face and then vanished. He picked up the cup again and took a sip.

Lady Mary gave him a moment, watched until he had relaxed, and then spoke again.

"There is one more thing."

He glanced warily at her and then quite deliberately put his tea cup down on the table. Lady Mary couldn't help herself. She laughed. And to her delight, and relief, he smiled.

"My lady?" He waited, not anxiously, but a little uneasily once more. What else did she have in mind?

Lady Mary just looked at him, enjoying the moment. "On the 22nd, Master George Robert Matthew Crawley will attend the christening of his brother, Master Stephen - the name Mr. Talbot and I chose together - Henry - for his father, obviously, - Charles - for one of the dearest men in my life - Talbot. I hope you'll approve."

She had stunned him again. He stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. That his arm did not begin to tremble alerted her to the fact that it was an arbitrary condition, rather than one set off by external stimuli.

"Are you serious, my lady?" He sounded almost as if he doubted her sanity.

"Carson..."

"Does Mr. Talbot approve?"

Lady Mary's famously short-lived patience gave way. "For goodness sake, Carson! Do you not think me perfectly capable of bringing _any_ man round to my point of view? I thought you knew the power of my charms!" She shook her head in exasperation. "Of course he approves, Carson," she said more temperately. "You will recall, perhaps, that Mr. Talbot's dear friend who died in that racing accident was Charlie Rogers. He welcomed the suggestion of adding Charles to Stephen's name. But it was _my_ idea," she stated emphatically, "and you the man I meant to honour by it, as everyone who has known us will understand." She could see that he was both pleased by her consideration and placated by the call Henry's old friend had on the name.

"I don't deserve you, my lady," he said solemnly, fixing her with the gaze of his great solemn dark eyes.

Lady Mary frowned thoughtfully. "I think that Lady Edith would say you do, Carson, and you know what that means." He joined her in a laugh at that, an insider joke they could both appreciate.

Lady Mary escorted him into the Great Hall where by accident or design Mr. Barrow stood waiting.

"Barrow, could you please go down to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room and bring Carson's dog up?"

Carson made to forestall this, but Lady Mary ignored him and Barrow nodded and moved off.

"He won't like that," Carson said, looking after the retreating butler.

"So what?" Lady Mary said, with characteristic disdain. "I want to see your dog."

They chatted for a few minutes about what a remarkable little boy Master Stephen Henry Charles Talbot was already proving to be and then Barrow reappeared holding the lead of a handsome sable, gold and white collie. Barrow handed the lead to Mr. Carson with as much disdain as it was possible to convey without words. Then he withdrew to a discrete distance from which he could feign deafness to their conversation and yet hear every word.

"He's lovely, Carson!" Lady Mary stooped to pet the glossy-coated creature who immediately sat at Carson's side and proffered a dignified paw.

"He's a remarkable dog, really," Carson mused, looking down at the animal and speaking almost to himself.

"In what way?" Lady Mary was curious. She expected such an observation from her father, who seemed to think that every dog he'd ever had was an exceptional example of the species. But she did not think it quite Carson's nature to extol the virtues of a dog.

He hesitated, as if only realizing that he'd made that comment aloud, and then, after a moment's consideration, said quietly, "He comes to me whenever the shaking starts, my lady. And sits beside me until it passes. I think - it may only be a fancy of mine - that the episodes have lessened in severity since I've gotten Shep."

She heard the affection in his voice. Whether or not the animal had such a direct impact, he clearly offered his novice master a great deal of support.

"Well," Lady Mary said brightly, knowing Carson would want to get past this moment of self-revelation, "you always had a discerning eye." She gave him one of her warmest smiles. "Thank you for coming, Carson. I will see you on the 22nd, if not before."

"My lady."

"Barrow." Lady Mary caught the butler's eye and he advanced to her side. "You may see Carson out." She stared hard at Barrow and then shifted her eyes meaningfully to the front door.

He nodded in understanding and, with a final smile at Carson, Lady Mary slipped away.

 ***** In the latest _Complete Scripts_ series for Downton Abbey, Julian Fellowes notes that his son has six godparents so I am extrapolating on the custom here. _Downton Abbey: The Complete Scripts: Season Three_ , Episode 7, Footnote p. 372.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I am still trying to rationalize what I view as the injustice to Carson in the Christmas 2015 episode and this story is part of the process. Carson and Mary won me over to _Downton Abbey_. In my world, Mrs. Hughes came later.


End file.
